Ten Days' Misery
by lovedrreid
Summary: 'You have two months to get this under control or you'll be sent to rehab.' Rated T for substance abuse and 'i don't caring'. Lots of Angst to come, also.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

Ten Days of Misery and an Eternity of Urge

A/N: Hey ya! I'm back with yet another multi-chapter. It's a little different because there will be journal entries (not suckish either!) along with the story. Each chapter will be the same way, story along with the journal entry, blah blah, you'll get it.

Summary: 'You have two months to sort this out or you'll be sent to rehab.' Warning: Substance abuse.  
-

Dear journal, I don't feel like getting up today, so I'll just call in sick for work. I think the rest are on to me though, but I don't care. The only thing I care about is my drug. My drug is relieving, and if it makes me feel better, why does it matter? They don't really understand, they don't even know me. I'm so high right now, I can't even grab my phone, but I'll get it once the high starts to fade, then I'll call in sick, then I'll shoot up again. I hope they don't know...  
-

Hours later:

"Reid, answer your phone, I need to talk to you." Gideon said. Reid was knocked out after shooting up the third time that day. "Fine, I'll just go over there and pick your lock, but we are going to talk."

Half an hour later, Gideon showed up at Reid's apartment and picked the lock. When he went inside, Reid was just waking up from his drug induced sleep.

"Why are you here?" Reid asked innocently. "I'm sick."

"Don't try to lie. You're not good at it. And I told you I was going to come over, but you didn't anser your phone." Gideon said calmly.

"Well, what's that supposed to mean? I could've been in the shower, or sleeping, which I was!"

"Hey, just calm down. Hotch wanted me to tell you that if you don't stop in two months, you'll be sent to rehab. And you do know what he means by that. Yes, we all know, so I suggest you get on your way to stopping your addiction. And don't think we won't be here for you, 'cause we'll always be there for you as long as you let us help. I need to go now." Gideon left, closing the door behind him, leaving Reid shocked, confused, and angry.

He looked at his needle and vial and thought about shooting up, but instead, he just sat back down on his bed and wrote more in his journal.

Dear journal, I'm back. I just found out my whole team knows, and if I don't stop using in two months, I'll be sent to rehab. I don't know what to do, but I know either choice I make, I'll be forced to quit. So I guess I'll quit on my own so I can get back to work. How bad can withdrawal be anyways?...

TBC

A/N: Well, this was just the prologue, and the real chapters will be much longer. I just wanted to give you a gist of what will be happening in the hopefully near future. Hope to break my own record of reviews. It would make me happy! 


	2. Chapter 2: Day One

A/N: Hello! I love the two that have reviewed so far: ferret assassin nin And: donttouch ! You've made me so happy for your kind reviews!

Day One:  
Dear Journal, I'm quitting today, after last shooting up last night, I already feel the shakes possessing my body and mild sweating. Though I haven't started vomiting yet, but I still feel crappy. I just hope it doesn't get any worse, that would be... terrible, for lack of a better word. I feel very annoyed right now by anything. I was reading earlier, and I couldn't read as fast as usual, it made me so impatient. I threw the book across the room and scratched at my legs. I can't control myself. The caffeine isn't enough to distract me from it. It just makes me awake and jittery, so I guess I'll take a few sleep aids and take a long nap...  
-

Reid was informed the rest of the team was on a case, but he wasn't allowed to go to work until he stopped using and got clean. He was mad that he couldn't even give a small profile over the phone. The team was still calling him every chance they got to talk to him and distract him away from his drugs. Gideon was talking serious to him, and it was annoying Spencer.

"Have you gotten rid of your drugs?" Gideon asked bluntly.

"Uh, I'm out, so I guess that counts doesn't it!" Gideon sighed. "I'm sorry, it's just mood swings. I don't feel good and I just wanna go back to sleep."

"Okay, well, we're on our way back. We're going over there to visit you in about an hour if that's alright with you."

"I guess it's alright, but not for too long, like I said before, I don't feel good at all..." There were a few long moments of intense silence swallowing the air around them both. "I don't think I can do it, Gideon, I really don't."

"Spencer, I know you can, you can do it. We're all here for you and you know you can talk about it."

"Yeah, I know. But you don't understand the pain I'm in." Reid said.

"Well, elaborate for me, so I can understand." There was another moment of silence.

"I feel like somebody's performing electroshock therapy on my guts and my heartbeat's racing really fast, making my blood pressure go up, making me really annoyed, easily, by the way, and angry, so warn the rest of them I might be a little mean when they come over. I just feel so fragile." Reid said quickly, his breaths becoming deeper and more audible over the phone, making Gideon wonder really if it was a good idea for Reid being alone while going through ten days of withdrawal. He was thinkging 'maybe it would be better for him to go to rehab.'. But then again, 'nah, he can do it. He's a genius'. But he didn't know that everybody's human, and humans can do only so much before they break and give up...  
-

The team wasn't warned about Reid's mood swings, but he was in so much pain when they got there, he couldn't. Everybody was there, even Hotch. Reid didn't want that many people over, but he was afraid that if he was alone for too long, he'd call his dealer again, and he would've went through all that agony for nothing. And the last thing he wanted was for the team to think he was too weak and send him to rehab without giving him two months like they'd promised. He didn't even know how hard it was going to get yet, and he didn't want to find out, but he was going to have to anyways.

Reid answered the door and allowed everyone come in. They all greeted him with encouraging smiles and hugs, which Reid was reluctant to do. The AC in Reid's apartment was down for the time being, so Reid had to wear short sleeves, which revealed the track marks covering the crook of his elbow, making Reid quickly cross his arms. He was glad they hadn't noticed his behavior, or they'd all draw their attention to him.

"So, uh, kid, how're you doing?" Morgan asked, breaking the silence barrier between him and his 'little brother'.

"Well, I feel like a pile of cow manure if that's what you're asking." Morgan offered a sad smile. The comment made Garcia jump up and hug her 'Junior G-Man'.

"Aww, my white chocolate, I brought you some cookies to hopefully cheer you up. We all love you so much and hope you get better." Reid had to smile at Garcia's whole hearted attempt to 'fix him'.

"Garcia, you know I will get better. I promise." He looked at everyone when he said that, showing he did mean business. Everyone's frowns turned to weak smiles of happiness. They were all happy for the determination in his voice, but knew after a few days of 'feeling like cow manure', he'd regret promising anything. "What? You don't believe me do you?"

"No, we do, we just can't wait for you to prove it to us." Emily said.

"For you to get better." JJ added.

"And for you to come back to work." Hotch concluded. The girls looked at him visciously. "What? We're short a member!" They all glared. "And... and we're worried about you." They all nodded approvingly toward him, making the rest laugh, even Reid, dispite it being painful.

After hours of joking and three pots of coffee and two movies, they were all tired. Especially Reid, the withdrawal he'd been going through was killing him. He'd falled asleep on the couch before the second movie was over, so Morgan carried Reid to his bed and turned his Einstein nightlight on and turning the rest of the lights off before leaving.

Reid woke in a cold sweat only hours later and just wanted nothing but to drug himself and go to sleep. He took out his journal once again.

Dear Journal, I don't know if I can do it, but the rest of my family will help me through this. I know they won't give up on me. How much worse can it get?...

TBC

A/N: so I liked this chapter, although it's not much longer than the prologue, it'll start getting more interesting soon. There is ALOT of angst to come, I promise. Kisses to all my fellow Angst addicts! ReViEw? 


	3. Chapter 3: Day Two

A/N: So well, written teaser for what's coming ahead. Have you ever read Road To Recovery? If you have, imagine that much angst times two. Yeah, there's not going to be just ten days, and then he's clean, oh no, it's worse than that. It took me long because I haven't been able to control my comp easily because my mouse port isn't working, so I only have my keyboard to control my comp. That and I've been struggling with my SI addiction. But hoped you like the written teaser. No audio or video! *bows dramatically*

Day two: Dear journal, I'm back again, with eight more days of misery. If this is only the calm before the storm, then I don't want to imagine what it'll be like when the withdrawal symptoms hit full throttle on my every move. I've read about how painful it is, and I didn't believe it until now, but as it seems, this is barely anything compared to what it'll be like in only two days. Heh, I'm shaking like an earthquake, and I'm forcing myself not to dry heave, as I haven't eaten since yesterday. It's painful. Maybe I could take some, and they wouldn't notice...  
-

Reid was in his room, staring at his phone. Debating whether or not he should call his dealer. He thought, and thought some more. He didn't want his team, his family, to be disappointed in his weakness, but in Reid's mind, he stood no chance against the pain of withdrawal, the muscle aching, gut wrenching, withdrawal symptoms that granted no mercy. He couldn't do it, he knew he couldn't. He quickly stood and grabbed his phone, dialling the number before he changed his mind. There was a low 'hello' on the other end of the line, and he couldn't believe himself, dealing with street thugs, but he couldn't get into trouble with the complex systems that he knew would never let Reid turn the drugs away. No; he couldn't do that, now could he?  
-

The team was on a case, so now he was left to himself, rocking back and forth. Pain, much much pain, was overwhelming his every fibre of his body, and all he could think of was the drugs that he'd have to wait an hour for. He wasn't sure he could make it that long. Every millisecond felt like an eternity of agony, and his muscles were tensing and untensing, his stomach the same. He was now draped over his toilet, dry heaving. He knew he wouldn't be able to throw up, but it was a reflex to be over the toilet.

sixty minutes later, he found himself being forced up to meet his dealer, which he never looked forward to, despite getting his favorite, cool object. He was called scum bag, whore, junkie, druggie, and lifeless. Though he knew not all of them were true, the biggest ones were. He was sure he'd do anything for his drug of choice, Dilaudid, making him a druggie and junkie. He didn't want to admit it though. It would make it too real, then he'd have to take his drug to forget, then it would make him even more of a druggie. It was a never ending cycle he couldn't seem to get himself out of.

He walked down town, not wanting to be cramped into his small car. The anxiety was setting in, probably the reason he didn't want to take his car. Despite that, he knew he needed the fresh air. 'Studies show that most of the people who spend less than an hour or so of fresh air each day are more likely to become depressed, making it more likely for suicide.' He thought. He didn't want to become a hopeless suicide locked away in a mental asylum for the rest of his life, being forced drugs. 'Well, I'm taking them willingly.' He thought grimly. He shook that thought quickly when he reached the alley opening, and down at the other end, he could see multiple dealers. Soon, in the crowd of whores, drunks, junkies, and dealers, there he found his own. Strong, buff, and free of drugs or alcohol. He didn't take it. He wasn't homeless. That just gave him more leverage to call people those things without being a hypocrit.

Reid walked slowly, being careful of junkies and alcoholics passed out on the ground, and finally, made his way to his dealer.

"You know the price." His voice was low and demanding; brooking no room for negotiations or arguments. Reid took out one hundred dollars for his four vials. Pretty cheap, he thought.

"Thank you." Reid said without making eye contact.

"Good day making business with you junkie." Reid clenched his fists. He was really angry this time, but instead of dusting anything up, he kept walking. He was so angry, and the withdrawal was so intense, he could barely see. Everything was fuzzy. His vision was restored when a prostitute dressed in mostly leather while smoking shoved him to the ground.

"Watch it! Druggie!" He couldn't hear anything though. His hearing was temporarily impared from the withdrawal taking his senses away. So he just got up and hurried home. After he entered, he quickly shut the door, and proceeded to go to his apartment.

He managed to get his shaky hands to obey his commands of opening the door. When he opened the door, Gideon was there, and only Gideon. Reid was confused and angry. He knew it was just the irritability from the withdrawal he'd been going through, but still. Gideon didn't need to be there every day. He walked in and was thankful he'd put the vials in his coat pocket.

"What are you doing here?" Reid asked as innocently as he could. Gideon shrugged.

"We got the case done, well we didn't. When we got there, the murderer confessed to it all. We intimidated him, and that's it. We didn't even start the profile. I came to check on you, but you weren't here, so..." Gideon shrugged again. "So, where were you?" Gideon asked suspiciously.

"Uh, out for a walk. I need to get out more." He thought of what he'd been telling himself. "An individual should get at least an hour of fresh air each day, or is more likely to become depressed. And that's the last thing I need right now." Gideon raised one of his brows, not completely convinced. "What?"

"Oh nothing." Gideon sighed.

"You don't believe me!" It was a statement. "You think I'm still getting high!"

"No, I don't. I just... I want you to get better, and this paranoia's getting to all of us. We like to think all of this is better than the reality, but, sadly..." Gideon looked Spencer in the eye.

Soon, friend-like/father-like Gideon turned to profiler mode. He noticed how Reid was uneasy on his feet, rocking back and forth. A nervous tick most people did when lying. Too much innocence. Hands in his pockets. Loss of eye contact. He was definitely hiding something, and Gideon just wanted to fall in his world of fluff and denial, but he knew right now wouldn't be the time for that. He needed to make sure Spencer wasn't self-destructing again, and he had a feeling he was just in time, like his sub-conscious mind was telling him to come here just for that reason. He didn't have time to ponder the thought.

"So, you wouldn't lie to me if I asked you something right now, would you?"

"Of course not, why would I. I don't have anything else in my life to hide, so, shoot." Gideon took note of his elaboration. Normally people would just answer with a yes or no, but this was most certainly not the case.

"What's in your pocket? And what were you doing actually? I know you weren't out for a walk." Gideon asked, regretting asking the questions like interogating a criminal, which Reid could be called. He was using, or was, prescription drugs without the prescription. They could easily arrest him, but, why would they?

"Um, my hands, and I'm serious, I was walking." Reid didn't look Gideon in the eyes. Gideon sighed. For some reason, he felt Reid would just open up and spill all his secrets. The truth was, Gideon saw Reid with his dealer, and it broke his heart that he couldn't even last two days. He was really starting to doubt if he could afford to do this on his own, without the professional help he could get at rehab. But he knew, they had a deal. Two months. If by then, he wasn't done, then there would be consequences.

"Reid, why don't you sit down." Gideon suggested. Reid was reluctant, but did as told. Gideon sat across from him on the couch and sighed. He knew there was going to be some tears and some anger, not to mention hateful words, but it had to be done. "I saw you in that alley, and I know you're going to say hateful things, and reckless things, but just listen. You can, you know. We're still going to give you two months." Gideon didn't really mean he was going to let Reid shoot up, but he was hoping the words would dig deep into his soul that didn't want anything to do with the drugs. His inner kid that was the innocent Spencer Reid, the naive little baby of the team, that had soul before any of this happened. He wanted that Spencer back. This wasn't Spencer. He was just being covered with a mask. He was inside, and Gideon needed to dig deep to pull him out, and to save him from himself.

"Gideon, I don't want to, but... I can't do it!" Reid said calmly, adding fermata to 'can't'. Gideon just shook his head.

"You can do it, and you know it. You need to get control of this. Remember, you only have a month and twenty nine days left." Gideon stood to leave, but Reid stopped him.

"Gideon. D... don't leave please. I mean, I just..." Reid fumbled with his hands in his pockets. He brought the three vials out and clutched them tightly, as if saying goodbye, then held them out with his eyes closed, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Please, take them. I don't want to do this. Not for anybody else, but I know I want to do it." Gideon nodded.

"Do you still want me to stay?" Reid nodded.

For a long while, they sat on the couch next to each other in the silence, which would usually make them both uncomfortable, but now, it seemed very comforting, letting their thoughts on the situation settle in their minds. Gideon seemed very happy that Reid had given him the drugs, but also unhappy that it could've been bad if he wasn't there. What'll happen when one time he's not there?

"Gideon..." Reid broke the silence, bringing them both back to reality. "I never took it, you know." Gideon nodded. "And... I really do want to stop this. It really scares me, getting the drugs alone... and" He gulped. "And leaving... so many prostitutes, and drunks, and junkies. I-I bumped into a prostitute... she... she pushed me down. I thought for a second I was dead, and I actually hoped she would put me out of my misery. My thoughts, they... they scare me, and I don't know how to stop them."

"It's your..."

"It's my sub-conscious mind speaking to me. It thinks I don't have a reason to live if I can't last two days, but I know I can last longer, even though if it is only a day longer, I'll still be happy with that."

"Me to. All I care is for you to try, and fail, try harder, fail better." Reid smiled.

"You're taking the perspective from Samuel Beckett." Gideon shrugged.

"It seems to make very much sense, so, I guess. Whatever works."

"I'm glad you were here to stop me. You know, my mind was dead-set to just get in here and shoot up, and I'm glad I didn't. I can't believe what I was thinking, I guess, it was just..." Reid shrugged.

"It was a lesson." Gideon completed. Reid nodded.

"I'm going to try to sleep." Reid finally said.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Eh, that's fine. I guess it's really your choice. I'm just going to sleep this one off, hopefully."

"Well, I'm going to stay here to make sure you're alright."

Reid yawned. Gideon could tell it was fake, but he didn't blame Spencer for wanting to be alone with how much he just revealed. Gideon called it good. He sighed and turned the T.V. on to settle his mind. Soon, he remembered Reid handed him the vials. He quickly stood and went to the sink and poured them all out after struggling with the lid.

Meanwhile, Reid was in his room writing in his journal.

Dear journal, I got caught today, but that doesn't mean anything. One part of me is glad Gideon was there to stop me, or rather let me choose. But, me choosing to give them to him, and 'not' giving up, means he'll believe me, and trust me. Giving me more leverage to get more drugs soon. But hopefully that soon is sooner, because withdrawal is killing me. Maybe I'll get some more tomorrow. They don't have paperwork to do, so they'll have a case, giving me a perfect time to get some. I have to go, bye!

A/N: I rather liked this chapter. And, you'll notice, this will be somewhat similar to Road To Recovery, but I never intend on copying. Besides, this one will never, ever be close to as good as it is. Anyway, great fic, lestathughlover is an awesome writer. I know, I'm babbling about that fic a lot these days, but I just went back, and spent 24 hours straight reading the one hundred chapters (about) from the beginning of DSH to RTR. It's just amazing. Check it out! XxLoveDrReidxX 


	4. Chapter 4: Day Three

A/N: I am so sorry for the wait. My computer crashed when a tree fell on the power lines, and we all have experienced that I'm sure. Gawd. That and I'm mad at my mom, cause she's not even saying anything to support me while I try to stop my SI addiction. Well, blah to her! ;)

Day Three Dear Journal, I feel like I just spilled anthrax into myself. My stomach hurts from dry heaving all day, and it doesn't help that I'm shaking uncontrolably, but I guess that's what I get for getting into this mess. The rest of the team called, they won't be able to make it here today, because of a case. However, they did promise to call and check up on me a lot. I wish they wouldn't worry. I mean, it's not like I'm going to give up right here, right now. No, I can't do that. I have my family who'd be so disappointed in me, I'd lose my job, and it would only prove to the fact that I'm nothing, to which my father had said to me numerous times before he left. 'You're weak', he'd say to my Mother and I. I didn't believe it, but now I'm starting to doubt my strength. The team did, however, come over this morning before they left, and I got a surprising result from Hotch when we spoke alone.

Flashback:

The team stopped at Reid's apartment before they headed off. Reid couldn't help but notice the team's, minus Gideon, smiling faces, though they were weak. He knew Gideon was still disappointed that he'd almost slipped, but he knew, from talk of other recovering addicts, he would slip a few times before kicking the addiction completely, but he just couldn't admit that to the rather optimistic members of his family. He just had that feeling, that hunch, that Gideon knew that he would slip before he was able to quit completely, and he so didn't want to prove that theory right, so, he thought, he'd have to make sure either they didn't know, or didn't use it once more ever.

After a few minutes of normal chatting, without any angst showing a big speedbump in their family, Hotch decided it was time he'd tell Reid what he'd been thinking. So, Hotch stood and told Reid to meet him in the kitchen, breaking the conversation, and replacing the silence with sympathetic looks, almost as if it were bringing back the reality of the situation they were all in. Once Reid stepped into the kitchen, he allowed the worry overtake him, his thoughts swarming his mind unable to be swatted away, not realizing he'd been making things up, tempting his mind to think of what would stop his thoughts. The wonderful high it gave him, the euphoria, with every touch he could feel, or not feel. What it felt like for the drugs to run through his vains, cooling only his blood, and the high making him hot and start to sweat. The beautif... 'Hey! C'mon, Hotch is talking to you. Quit drooling over it!' Reid thought as he brought himself into the painful reality that was his life.

"What Hotch? I'm sorry, just... don't really feel well, yanno." Reid asked. Hotch knew what he meant by 'not feeling well' but just passed it off as if it was a cold.

"I said I've been thinking..."

"Know how that can be." Reid smiled. Hotch smiled back slightly.

"Well, I think that if you think you're ready, in a few days, you could come back, on maximum supervision." Reid didn't know how to take the words. Whether to be happy Hotch was letting him off the hook so easily, or blissfully pissed that he'd thought Reid, an adult, would need constant supervision as if he was a child that wouldn't stop breaking things. Since he was still withdrawing from the blissful drug, the anger took over, and he wasn't able to stop it before it escaped his mouth.

"I should just stay home then. Why go back to work if I have one of you constantly babysitting me like I'm some sort of rabbid animal. I'm tired of being treated like a child. Just because I'm addicted to drugs does not mean I'm incapable of caring for myself and..." Hotch cut him off.

"I know you can care for yourself. But that's the deal. It's you either come to work in a few days with Gideon or I watching you over the next month or two, or don't come back until the two months are up. It's your choice, and whatever happens, I hope you don't choose the third, you're smart, and you know what I'm talking about." Hotch said softly.

"No, I don't understand. I apparently can't look after myself any more than a child would, so why would I understand what you're saying." Reid said in a soft, innocent, child-like tone.

"It's your choice, Reid." Hotch said, obviously ignoring Reid's attempt to annoy the older profiler, but hadn't succeded.

They both went back out into the room with the rest of the team, and Reid tried with effort to converse normally to his family, but his mind was on the deal that Hotch proposed, which was certainly not something he wanted to think about at the moment. Almost too soon, they left, knowing they had a job to do, and leaving Reid to himself and his mind that would eventually cause him to fall asleep while a needle by his side, a torniquet still hanging onto his arm, and a vial half empty next to the needle, but Reid didnt' want to think about that. He knew he'd be able to last seven more days. Hopefully.

Dear Journal, seven more days, and I'll be away from this. Goodbye. I don't know if I'll want to write anymore. Wish me luck.

TBC

A/N: I was not pleased with this chapter. It seems too much of a filler. I'm just really depressed (when am I not, though?) and I really want to get to Relief, since it's just writing down what I think, so I don't know about this... review? 


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